


Intemartecium|| Dramione

by batshitasian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Drug Addiction, F/M, Oral Sex, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex, Sex Addiction, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29318334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batshitasian/pseuds/batshitasian
Summary: "Darkness is the most alluring class of love, Granger."{in-tee-mart-tee-see-uhm}Three years after the Battle of Hogwarts, the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix are prisoners of war. Once a month, six unlucky wizards are uncaged to compete against each other in chronic entertainment. In remembrance of Harry Potter's defeat and the Resistance's demise, they combat to the death.Draco Malfoy is one of them.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Theodore Nott
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	1. 1. Incarcerated

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING
> 
> Mature themes: Death, Mental health issues (Self Harm, Anxiety, Suicide, etc.), NSFW Content, Torture, Abuse, and Rape.
> 
> Proceed with caution. This is your only warning.
> 
> And yes you horny bitches will get your smut.
> 
> DISCLAIMER
> 
> All characters are owned by J.K. Rowling except for Kenna Zabini and Alec Nott. 
> 
> ~
> 
> Socials to reach me shawty I love to talk to all of you!
> 
> Tik Tok- batshitasian1
> 
> Instagram- batshitasian
> 
> Love you,
> 
> Kay-luh
> 
> (she/her)
> 
> ~
> 
> Dedicated to a particular flower that only continues to bloom and prosper, and a fire that ignites flames of inspiration brighter than her hair. Thank you both for working on this with me.
> 
> I present to you... Intemartecium.
> 
> ('Marty' for short)

**STRAGGLED** **FOOTSTEPS** were swamped out by the rain, crippling the air.

"They're here early," the blonde girl buzzed from between the bars, "have you been counting?"

Hermione Granger let herself rest upon the freezing wall of her cell, "Not today."

The similar shoes of Augustus Rockwood were coming down the staircase, each girl's eyes perking up. Behind him followed a familiar face, one that hadn't been seen by them since the Battle of Hogwarts.

The dazed witch kept babbling, "They're three days too early. The second of January isn't until tomorrow, and mealtime isn't for a couple more hours-"

Ginny pulled Luna back from the bars of their shared space, "Hush, Luna. They're coming our way."

The harsh clangs of the keys that sat in the loophole of Rockwell's pants echoed in their ears. A hood was over the stranger's face, none of them able to see him due to his obscurations.

"What do _you_ want?" Lavender Brown snottily spat from the cell across from them. A sigh of relief escaped the other girls' lungs when she didn't say anything out of line. Her hair was matted to her head, her appearance significantly more untidy than the other girls.

Everyone thought her to be mad, the glisten of insanity so prevalent in her eyes with every waking moment in the dungeons. 

And as the seasons changed, Hermione took note of her fellow cellmates' mental decline; Lavender Brown had an undiagnosed case of Schizophrenia.

They'd discover her talking-- sometimes _screaming_ \-- to herself at night. It was almost disturbing to listen to.

During the day, they tried their best to keep Lavender quiet; any disturbances she caused would have her dragged to Alecto Carrow. Each time she'd return to her fellow prisoners, her condition worsened.

Rockwood came to the door of their cell as his accomplice stayed in the shadows, "I'm here for Lovegood."

Hermione stood up from her cot, no longer suppressing the urge to protest. Her throat was dry, and her lips were chapped as she steadily came to the rusty bars of her cell. 

Ginny didn't hesitate to step in front of her friend and take her hand, panic rousing her dry throat. "What are you doing?"

The man stepped into their space, his nostrils flaring as he approached the red-haired girl who puffed her chest out and stuck her chin up.

Hermione's brows furrowed as she turned her head to the two girls through the strips of metal beside her, "Be _careful_ , Ginny."

The man continued his advance, backing them into a wall.

"You can't take her! She hasn't done anything wrong-"

_Smack._

Ginny soothed a hand over her stinging cheek. Her face turned in the other direction. After all these years, the Weasley girl hadn't lost her spirit.

Not with Luna beside her, at least.

There was no response from the hooded figure.

Rockwood let out a chuckle as he roughly grabbed the blonde by her upper arm, his unrelenting grip provoking her to resist even more, "Come on, you little _brat_ -"

"Don't touch her," the man huskily muttered from the shadows.

His voice was familiar. Almost _nostalgic_ to Luna.

The dirty death eater's hold on her faltered as she turned to look back at Ginny, who wore a perpetual scowl.

Her heart ached as she looked at her friend.

"If you hurt her, I'll kill you," Ginny heaved, getting up from the floor, "Don't listen to them, Luna. They're going to--"

"Come, Lovegood," the figure stood at the archway of her cell, his towering frame nearly too broad to fit in the doorway, "Now."

He offered his hand to her, taking a step into the dark chamber.

Hermione observed silently, taking mental notes in her head of their interaction.

A flush of speculation came across Luna's cheeks in the dim torchlight. She studied the man's calloused hands, taking them into hers as Rockwood continued to glare at Ginny.

Clearly, the cloaked man was a higher rank of Death Eater than Rockwood if he granted him the leniency of time.

Her delicate, trembling fingers came across the palm of his hand, studying the lines across them.

A pair of soft brown eyes could be seen staring at the skin that peeked out of Luna's sleeve, accompanied by a handsome face.

There were burns where shackles used to lay. For a while, they kept her under magic suppressing irons because Luna could easily use wandless magic. But soon enough, her power found its way into the graveyard in her mind, where it lay buried ever since. She was one of the only ones who didn't have access to magic anymore. They had tortured the essence out of the witch until it was controlled-- and soon-- dormant.

Luna stared up at him absent-mindedly and dropped his hands. "You're supposed to be dead."

"Unfortunately for you, I'm not."

"Where are you taking her?" Hermione spoke up. The man now turned to her so that she could see pale skin underneath his hood.

Lavender perked up, "If You-Know-Who sees he's missing a--"

" _Voldemort_ ," Hermione corrected. Her glare was stiff on Rockwood, who was ushering Luna and his accomplice out of the cell. "His name is Voldemort."

"I'll cut your tongue out, mud-blood," Rockwood threatened.

Their threats weren't empty.

Fleur Delacour was the only one who had stayed silent in their section of the dungeon. A spell had been cast that permanently stole her voice. She did too much screaming, you see, and for good reason too.

She delivered a stillborn baby boy due to complications after watching Bill's death.

Bill's death was public, almost two years ago. He was chosen to duel one month. His partner was Ginny, and she was forced to kill him. And God knows he'd never hurt his baby sister.

Moreover, Fleur's cellmate was knocked out from a session with Dolohov. Poor Cho had it the worst. Some of the death eaters had a certain fetish for her race, making her an excellent target to fulfill their needs.

Lovegood began to walk up the stairs, her weak eyes meeting the rest of the captives before the cloaked man followed her up.

"Luna, stop!" Ginny cried as her fingers grasped at the rods of metal, "Please don't take her-- She hasn't done anything-"

Rockwood shut her up, " _Crucio_."

A deafening shriek penetrated their eardrums as she was thrown back to the dirty floor of her cell, Hermione's eyes widening at the sight.

"Stop it!"

"You stay away from her!" Luna shouted. Her call was soft yet demanding. A hand was placed around her waist, which silenced any more protests.

"Quiet, Lovegood," he pulled her back so that she was against him, "Not another word from you or you're _next_."

"I'll see you soon," she delicately called out. "I _promise_."

Rockwood stopped his assault, a smirk across his ugly features as he looked down at the girl who stood still against the floor, "Blood traitor."

A horrified glance was exchanged between all the girls as Ginny let out a quiet sob, her hand twitching on the floor. She laid still, but Hermione knew exactly what was racing through her mind.

The footsteps ceased as the three left, Luna being left in the hands of whatever wretched death eater had requested her presence.

" _Ginny_ ," Hermione reached through the bars, holding her ankle and rubbing soothing circles on the flesh, "it will be okay. I promise you'll see her again--"

"Did they take her to Dolohov?" Cho had woken up, still drowsy from the drugs they'd administered to her. She rubbed her eyes and noted the absence in the cell diagonal from her and Fleur.

Lavender groaned and sat on her cot. Underneath her breath, she muttered to the wall, her hands moving as if she was speaking to someone. "Luna's better off dead if she's with him," she covered her mouth, whispering to the illusions conjured by psychosis.

The girls tried to ignore her.

"Is everything okay, Cho?" Hermione asked, peeling her eyes away from Ginny only for a moment, "Do you want me to have a look at you--"

" _No_ ," she shook her head quickly, "No, thank you."

She nodded.

There was no form of consolation that could be provided for any of them. It was best not to talk about it.

"Try to rest," Hermione raised her brows at the three girls at the other side of the room, "We'll all need it before tomorrow."

A nod of acknowledgment was reciprocated between the group as they assumed their resting positions.

Ginny began to shift and shiver as she pushed herself off the ground. Hermione moved the contact from the girl's ankle to her hand as she collected her bearings, tears tinting her eyes with their shine. Their heads rested together between the bars.

"Match my breathing, Ginny," Hermione suggested, slowly taking an exaggerated inhale, "Come on."

Ginny had clung onto Luna for three years now; they were almost inseparable. Hermione perceived it as codependency.

She took an observation of Lavender, who sat up with her eyes pried open.

Everyone at school always thought Luna was out of it, but as the years passed, Luna's thoughts tended to wander less. Soon, those soothing voices that she heard began to disappear, and she only heard her own.

The voices that Luna heard were in correlation to her belief in the afterlife; Lavender's, however, strayed far beyond the veil of death.

Hermione analyzed her jail mates as they drowned in the tides of distress, their minds bobbing at the surface of the unforgiving waves of brutality for so long. She watched their spirit rot, followed by their minds, and finished with their heart.

It was only a matter of time before she'd decay too.

Fleur's eyes began to flutter shut as Cho faced the wall, curled up into a ball.

Soon, Hermione began to hum a lullaby. A simple tune, something she'd learned on the piano when she was young. It brought her solace. The vibrations were comforting as they steadied the rhythm of her rampant heart, blending with the vulgar lament coming from down the hall.

The boys never cooperated without a fight.

~

"McLaggen was screaming again, wasn't he?" Ginny muttered to her brother, taking a bite out of the stale bread served to them on corroded metal plates. "Infighting again?"

"With Ron," George muttered weakly, not touching his food, "I wouldn't say it was entirely Cormac's fault either."

"How's his temper?" Hermione frowned, fervent to know the status of his crumbling psyche. "After the last battle, I didn't expect him to get any better."

They looked to Ron, who sat with Dean and Neville. He had been dodging Hermione and what was left of his family for the past month out of the humiliation of what he'd done.

He was _chosen_ the most often out of any of them.

Ron's musty, worn features reminded Hermione of Horcrux hunting with him and Harry. This time, his attitude was worse than when he wore that necklace.

As the years went on of their routine, most of them had grown accustomed to the fact that they'd all fall prey to the killing curse from one another's hands. Ron, however, had sandbags upon his shoulders. He dragged those weights around him, unable to let them go.

"He needs to learn to forgive himself for Hannah," Seamus came next to them. He had heard their entire conversation. "She wasn't gonna last here anyways. Weasley did her a favor--"

"It could be you today," Hermione cut in. Seamus had always been unafraid to speak up. "It's best not to talk about what we've all done for survival."

Ginny focused back on her plate, the stale bread and cheese unable to sustain them for long. Some days, they'd get fed stew when there were leftovers from the cafeteria.

"You didn't sleep again, huh. Granger?" George nudged her as he noticed the bags underneath her eyes. She always had them. Since they were kept underground, the concept of time was almost immeasurable. The dungeons of the Ministry of Magic had driven plenty of them mad.

"It was loud." She nodded, not wanting to talk about Luna's departure. 

Ginny sat next to her, acting unfazed yet so blatantly impaired. Her fingertips were trembling-- they had been all morning. The repercussions of the Cruciatus Curse were blatantly obvious.

"You should eat, George," his sister suggested, eyeing his food. "You should be at full strength today--"

"Have it," he grimaced, drawing his stare over to behind Hermione. She turned around to follow his gaze.

"George, I--" 

"Take it, Ginny."

Hermione and the last Weasley twin tore their glance away from the figure that stood in the doorway.

Draco Malfoy gazed at the wall, sweat glistening off his brow as he walked into the room full of people. 

All of them were scattered in litter groups with their remaining classmates. Most of them were quiet, keeping to themselves as they tried to stomach their meals. There were about fifty of them left. There used to be roughly two hundred. Some died from early suicide attempts, the other from the battles. Most of them had died in the first three months when they'd fight with the guards. However, the Dark Lord made a rule of 'no killing the prisoners.'

He made sure each death was public. It kept his supporters and the rest of the wizarding world well aware of his power.

It ensured no rebellion.

Draco's face was expressionless as he took to his usual corner. No one talked to him, really. He was Cormac's cellmate, but other than that, there was no reason for any of them to address him. He had, after all, bullied at least half the room in their schooling days. 

Malfoy had fallen from grace in the Wizarding World not only once-- but _twice_.

"Have a good morning, mate?" Cormac taunted him. "I see you've warmed up for today."

During the Battle of Hogwarts, he chose the right side, but it was also the losing one. There was no praise for him as he betrayed his Slytherin friends and was 'redeemed' in the eyes of the Order. Instead, he was considered a traitor and was punished as such.

The Dark Lord had resulted in killing the Purebloods if they showed retaliation as well, his administration a river that drowned its own fish.

" _Ecstatic_ ," he grumbled, coming to his own corner and ignoring another one of McLaggen's pathetic offers at friendship.

Draco had taken these past years to strengthen his frame, his escape undoubtedly arriving soon. 

He wanted to be ready.

He wanted to be ready to reemerge into society as the last victor of the Dark Lord's tournament.

All heads turned as Walden Macnair appeared from the doorway, "It's time."

~

She was dragged out, shackles against her now thin wrists. Hermione had done her fair share of fighting these past moons.

On the 2nd of every month, in remembrance of Harry Potter's defeat, they held a battle between the last of the followers of the Order and anyone in compliance with it.

Three pairs were selected to duel for the amusement of the Death Eaters and their families. Young children were even encouraged to watch, the Dark Lord considered it would be best to show them young.

Annually, in May of each passing year, they'd invite the _public_ to watch.

In the dungeons, they weren't treated half as bad as one would think. Their punishment was far worse than torture.

"Are you feeling okay, Hermione?" Cho Chang muttered from in front of her. 

She didn't have the chance to respond as Cormac McLaggen butt into their conversation, trailing behind her with shackles on his large wrists, "Please, we all know the Dark Lord won't risk his Golden Girl on a private match; he's waiting till May. If she's lucky, she won't get chosen until it's just her and bloody Weasley. The 'epic battle' of Potter's famous friends."

Neither of them responded. Even his presence behind them was frightful enough. 

The late Hannah Abbott had been taken by the blonde brute before she passed. She was taken by him _multiple_ times. 

Every woman's personal form of punishment. 

"Cat got your tongue, Chang?" He chuckled. "Don't worry, we all know you're too popular to let go..."

The girl was never chosen. Cho hadn't been chosen since the day she stepped foot into the hands of the Death eaters because the men simply took too much pleasure with her. But to be honest, she'd rather battle with her peers than be forced to perform another session with one of them again. It truly was a fate worse than death.

"You're _vile_ ," Hermione seethed and sent a pitiful look to Cho. The girl had already continued walking. 

The Dark Lord sat atop a large granite, throne-like seat, next to Bellatrix Lestrange and Corban Yaxley. His most accomplished subordinates were rewarded well for their series of victories in the first Battle of Hogwarts.

Lestrange and Yaxley were important pillars of the duels. Bella had no hesitation in torturing the contestants in order to increase motivation. Yaxley was proficient in the Imperius Curse, keeping the Minister of Magic completely in his control throughout the battle. If the contenders retaliated or refused to participate, Yaxley made them. The commentators couldn't put a toe out of line with his curse upon them.

The Dark Lord's system worked exceptionally well.

Every other month, they switched off the spectator of the match, a new Order member forced to annotate the strikes cast against the young prisoners. When Ginny and Bill were chosen, Molly was exacted to commentate the murder of her son at the hands of her daughter. Yaxley's curse produced her voice as a sports announcer, her desperate rasp resounding from the walls of the Department of Mystery. She didn't speak for months afterward, repulsed by her sound.

January produced Augusta Longbottom as the interpreter of the match. It always was a bout of irony that someone close to the competitors was chosen.

" _Imperio_ ," Yaxley removed his wand from Augusta's harsh gaze, her face turning blank. Her collar was yanked up, bringing her ear to his lips. Whispered words carried her instructions.

"Welcome to the first Occidendum Justorum of the year 2001." The audience of Death Eaters applauded loudly. "This will be an exciting match. Concessions are on the left-wing. Bring out the first pairing!"

Rockwood and Dolohov burst into the arena, dragging the first contestants of the night.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil! Both former members of Dumbledore's Army and the Order. The Indian one even accompanied Harry Potter to the Yule Ball many years ago... It's rumored that Potter even lost his virginity to her! Wonder if Weasley has something to say about that?" 

Ginny's head bowed in shame as the audience booed at her. Most of the people doing the booing were the grown men. The mothers and children stayed put in their seats, their expressions unreadable.

"Let the games begin!" Augusta was ushered to her seat, chains sprung from the arms and legs of the chair, shackling her in to watch.

Lavender and Parvati stood on opposite ends, both 10 paces away from the center.

Numbers were floating on the ceiling; it was the same charm used to conjure a night sky across the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

" _Crucio_ ," she aimed her wand at Parvati, missing by a couple of feet. 

Everyone watched as they began to circle each other. Lavender was muttering something under her breath, her hallucinations taking place out in the open. No one could see them but the girl as a crazed look came onto her face. 

Draco tore his gaze away, seemingly uninterested and too apprehensive to focus. 

He eyed the raven at the top of the arena as it spread its wings. 

_Fuck that blasted creature._

How envious Draco was that he had the privilege to be free of the punishment he was bound to. The prisoner saw it as a blatant mockery of his situation. 

That fucking bird wore his colors as well-- _jet_ _black_. It was almost insulting. 

Resentment was carved in the craters beneath his eyes.

"She's gone mad!" Parvati screeched as she called out to the Dark Lord, trying to get a clear shot at her opponent. " _Stupefy_!"

The color upon his cheeks was almost sickly as he turned his attention back to the fight. A scream erupted from Lavender's mouth as she began to send red sparks towards the audience, a protective shield protecting the bystanders from any harm. 

"I'll protect all of you!" Lavender screamed into nothingness, her stance guarding a corner with wide arms. " _Avada Kedavra_!"

She missed. 

Draco almost laughed.

The rest of the contestants had appalled expressions as they watched Parvarti take another hit. Hermione let out a small gasp as red sparks were sent in every direction.

"Who do you think is gonna win?" Cormac's head dipped down to Hermione as she felt his stubble prick against the tip of her ear. "My bet's on Lavender... we all know how reckless she can be."

"These are _lives_ ," Hermione scowled, turning to him with ragged and fierce eyes. "You don't place bets on your friends--"

"I'll do what I please, Granger," he shrugged, turning to face her as a loud gasp emerged from the audience. "Unlike you, I'd like to spend my last moments not bloody miserable all the time--"

"Weren't you caught for fighting with Ron last night--?"

"We have a winner!" Augusta's voice boomed, the undertones of fear coating her pitch. "Congratulations, Lavender Brown!"

Hermione's eyes widened as she took in the sight of Parvarti's lifeless body on the floor. Lavender was still in the corner, protecting hallucinations of people as two guards came to her side, disarming her and dragging her out of the arena. 

"Told you," Cormac tilted his head to the side nonchalantly. " _Reckless_."

Padma let out a heart-wrenching scream, running to her sister, who no one had attended to. 

Instantly, more guards were sent out to restrain her as well. Her sobs were silent against the loud cheers of the audience. 

"Next up... Dean Thomas and Romilda Vane!" The two were dragged out from opposite ends, as usual, wands in hand. 

The next duel began almost immediately. 

They moved on from her death too quickly-- almost as if it didn't matter. 

There were blind tears down Padma's face. Her hand clawed at what was left of her twin sister as they dragged them in separate directions. They held the breathing twin by the arms... and the dead one by the collar of her shirt-- her face was being _scraped_ across the ground.

The expression on Padma's face was a representation of what almost every prisoner felt. Besides Cormac, there's only one man who would give him a run for his grim reputation-- _Draco Malfoy_.

Hateful, vicious, and merciless. 

Draco sat sulking in the corner before Dolohov came to his side, whispering in his ear. Before the blonde could comply with his orders, he looked up at the five poles that held a prisoner.

Four large poles had Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, Xenophilius Lovegood, and Sybil Trelawny. The fifth one was empty. 

Each day, he prayed his mother wasn't in that position. 

He left swiftly, ignoring Romilda, who had already thrown the first shot. No one noticed his disappearance.

"We're saved for another month, then?" Cho's voice trembled as Hermione watched tears crowd at her lash line. Unconsciously, she reached for her friend's hand, trying to squeeze a portion of the charade of courage that Miss Granger radiated. 

Hermione squeezed back, the clinking of the metal upon their wrists reminding them that they could easily be next, "Another month..." She had to look away from the scene, unable to watch another one of her classmates murder each other. Many of the others did the same. 

She looked up, observing that same raven as it wobbled across the rim of the bowl. Below them was the audience. Then, the pillars of older captives. 

Molly Weasley was staring at what was left of her family with tenderness and grief glassed onto her eyes. She was forced to watch her children kill each other for years now. This was the only time she'd ever see them-- when they were about to _die_. 

Ginny refused to kill Bill, through her retaliation, they brought out Molly and used the Cruciatus Curse on her. 

They kept her breathing to watch her children kill each other. However, Arthur hadn't survived that far.

That was the consequence of rebellion.

They held Xenophilius Lovegood on a totem too. His eyes searched the line of prisoners for a sign of his Luna, but he never found her. One day, he would understand what happened. 

Their old professors were taken captive as well.

Today, they had McGonagall strung up, her hands above her head in a ragged white gown. Her lips were dry-- _bleeding_ as she begged them to quench her thirst. The once honest and fair composure she held was now abandoned as her head hung low. The poor woman was forced to watch as two generations of her students were killed, if not my Voldemort, by each other.

And Trelawny... She was reminded everyday of how Harry Potter didn't win-- how her prophecy was as good as shit.

Romilda Vane screamed, snapping Hermione back from her daze. Her stare diverted down to Augusta Longbottom, who was heavily sobbing as she narrated Dean Thomas landing a fatal blow on his opponent. 

Romilda was dead on the floor. 

Cho's sob was heavy in her throat as Hermione held her hand tighter, careful not to draw too much attention. It didn't matter how many times they had seen their friends murdered by each other; it always stung just the same. 

"I wanted the girl!" A man called out from the audience and shouted to Rockwood. "She would've been much better _use_ to me, don't you agree?"

"Unless you have a taste for cold pussy," Walden Macnair shouted to him, "I don't think you'll want this one anymore."

Laughs exploded from the men in the audience. They were pigs—every single one of them. 

Cormac began to clap slowly; his lack of empathy or any human emotions disturbed everyone in line. Ron sent a dull stare in his direction. 

"Last, but certainly not least... the traitor Draco Malfoy and my grandson, Neville Longbottom!" Augusta shrieked, her voice trembling with each word she said. Her expressions were frightful as the two competitors were escorted by no one, meeting the other's hard stares as they prepared to fight for their lives.

"I've been waiting for this one, my Lord..." Bellatrix stood up from her seat, looking at her master, "What a coincidence that my own nephew will be the one to finish the job."

"Ready..." the old woman breathed, the other parents on the totems looking now too.

"Destroy him, Draco!" Bellatrix cackled, a wicked smile dawning on the Dark Lord's snake-like face. 

"Set..." Augusta was sobbing as the two boys raised their wands. 

"You can do this, Neville," Hermione muttered under her breath, the outcome of this match already wounding her before it had begun. 

"Go."

" _Expelliarmus_!" Neville shouted with an offensive stance.

Draco easily blocked the spell, knowing that he had to drag this fight out longer. The entertainment was what the people wanted the most; he needed to provide that by playing along with these games. 

" _Protego_!" The blonde took menacing steps forward, his pace quickening as he began to block spells cast by Longbottom. 

The majority of them had swallowed the pill of Draco being manipulated at sixteen to become an instrument of murder.

But his loyalties were the least of their problems.

" _Crucio_!"

He did not have a problem killing. He was no longer a sacred boy that was so troubled to find his place in the world. If he could go back to the night he failed to complete his Master's wishes; he would have killed Dumbledore without a second thought. 

" _Reducto_!" Longbottom panicked, Draco's steps corning him as he blocked his offensive spells. 

Hermione's hands began to sweat. Her grip on Cho hadn't ceased. If anything, she was now the one squeezing the backbone out of _her_ hands. 

The audience was in a frenzy as Malfoy stopped his defensive spells, sending strikes onto Neville's chest. 

His hair was unkempt with smudges of dirt upon his cheeks. The sweat that glistened off of his brow was even appealing to some teen girls in the audience. 

He was always one of the three pairs in the month of May when the public was allowed to watch. Slytherin girls screamed for him.

" _Crucio_!" Draco sneered as Longbottom fell to the floor. " _Crucio_!"

Augusta was forced to remain quiet. The light left her eyes as she witnessed her kin suffer the same fate his parents did by the same line of dark wizards.

McGonagall had long looked away; every adult with the Order did. 

And for the first time in so long, Bellatrix gleamed with pride. 

It was supposed to be a bitter triumph for each winner, but for Draco Malfoy, it seemed as though it was an easy task.

How else would he pay the price for his freedom? No amount of money could sway the Dark Lord's mind after a betrayal.

He put on a show to entertain the guests... He was a crowd favorite, after all. 

"AH!" Neville cried out, tears forming in his eyes as he looked to his Grandmother-- she was the last sight he saw.

" _Avada Kedavra_."

The crowd went wild. 


	2. 2. Fraudulent Wings

**HERMIONE'S FINGERS** tapped the edge of the cot as she awaited her shot. She had been biting down on her lips for what seemed like ages now-- how miraculous that she didn't draw blood...

"Ah, Miss Granger," Horace Slughorn waddled in, a cane now accompanying him. During the battle of Hogwarts, he chose the winning side-- A member of the Order saw this as betrayal and didn't hesitate to impair his walk. Most people saw him as the very definition of a snake. "You're the last for treatment?"

She didn't say anything. After Neville's death, she didn't want to. 

Poor Augusta. Now that the new 'Ministry' had no use for her, her fate was uncertain. They'd probably have her dead by this evening. 

"I heard about Ms. Patil," Slughorn sighed as his back was turned, grinding something into a fine powder. "She was always a good student. I'm sorry to hear about--"

"Don't talk about her--" Hermione snapped, "about _any_ of them." 

It was quiet after that. His betrayal was still quite fresh as it was _seared_ into their brains. He was the prison's personal physician. Madam Pomfrey was taken into custody with their old professors who didn't comply with the new administration... they hadn't heard of her since. 

It was only a couple of months ago that Lavender had tried to saw her own arm off with a piece of metal she'd found on the ground, Slughorn had the task of regrowing it. 

"Your arm, please," her old professor muttered as she brought her stare to the needle and syringe that was in his grasp, "You know the drill."

Her stomach twisted as she began to roll her worn sleeve up, the material stretching easily. Slughorn's lips were pressed into a thin frown as he looked at the damage that had been added. 

Hermione could hardly bear to look at her marred skin. The cut marking of today was fresh on her arm, some blood dried and some still bright red as they were tallied. At first, they carved them on her leg, but after a year and a half, they didn't have enough room. The death eaters would take turns recording each day with an incision. 

_"What day is it?" Hermione asked from the confines of her dull cell, hardly two weeks after their first Occidendum Justorum in 1998._ _After all the nights underground, the concept of time had become so foreign to her._

_So she asked the guard that stood outside their cells, awaiting an answer._

_He turned to her, a vacant expression upon his face. Hermione didn't recognize him-- she hadn't taken the time to memorize her captors' names. The silence was almost deafening as most of the girls in the cell's next to her stayed quiet._

_"I asked you what day it was," Hermione repeated, boldness upon her tongue._

_Menacing steps brought the man to her cell door, Hannah Abbott going to disappear in the corner of the chamber she shared with Hermione. It wasn't wise to talk to the guards-- let alone raise your voice at one._

_The cell door was cracked open as he took a step in, looking to her cellmate that was too timid to do anything._

_This presented a perfect learning opportunity. "I always wondered why the Dark Lord hadn't killed you off yet... I supposed I could put you to good use then?" The guard called for his accomplice as the heads of the girls' perked up. "_ _Rockwood! Get in here."_

_"Take your pants off," he demanded. "Now."_

_"What-" Hermione took a few steps back, nowhere to go. Panic raised in her voice once she realized that she had indeed poked a beast, "This isn't a part of your job--"_

_Rockwell arrived at the door of the cell, "I'll get her arms."_

_The scene unfolded quickly as the surrounding girls began to protest. Hermione tried to kick at them, her arms and legs flying as her pants swiftly were peeled off, "Get off of me-- Stop!"_

_Soon enough, she was in her shirt and knickers as Rockwell's hands held her to the ground, the other wizard taking a dirty blade out of his pocket and placing his hands on her knees._

_The poor girl tried to scream as she looked at the women around her who were helpless to do anything._

_She screamed an earsplitting cry that she had one produced earlier that year at Malfoy Manor. There was one thing more frightening than having Bellatrix have her pinned down to the floor of that cold, dark home; a man._

_His hands were rough and calloused as he forced them apart on_ _the floor of her dirty, cold cage_ _._

_"What are you doing?" Ginny pulled at the bars next to her, "Stop! Don't--"_

_As everyone, including Hermione, saw what looked like was going to happen, Cho had to force her eyes away. She couldn't see another girl go through what had happened to her only hours before._

_"Let go of her!" Lavender yelped, "Help!! Someone help!! He's--"_

_Her legs kicked in the air as tears came to her eyes, waiting for the feeling of her underwear to be ripped off and her virtue stolen by the brutes._

_But no such feeling ever came._

_A blade began to drag marks over the inside of her thighs. They were large strokes that were being sliced into her skin, and after four straight lines had been drawn, they would take it diagonally—a perfect tally of five._

_Luna, Ginny, Fleur, Lavender, Katie, and Cho were screaming before another guard silenced them. It was Dolohov. Once he heard the delicious screams of the Golden Girl, who had stirred so much trouble these first weeks, he couldn't help but witness the cause of the noise._

_Hermione continued to explode in screeches begging them to stop. In an effort to evade the feeling of splitting eardrums, Dolohov put a hand around her throat to silence her._ _  
_

_Fleur shrieked as she pounded against the wall, "You can't fucking do this! She's hardly 17--"_ _  
_

_Soon enough, the guard was finished with his work. Hermione couldn't speak after that. Her throat was croaky and dry, her cords were swollen, and her eyes were teary..._

_The marks upon her skin were similar to a prisoner that marked their days with chalk on the wall. In this case... it was her bare thighs—48_ _tallies for 48 days._

_It was fitting._

_Hannah Abbott came to her side the second the men left, hoping that her kindness would compensate for the lack of protests she presented._

_It was only later that it was revealed to be Walden Macnair who had started Hermione's torment._

They continued that routine every week after that. It served as a reminder of not only how long it's been since she failed to save the Wizarding World, but of how she was so powerless to do anything about it. Her hatred for them only grew from there.

The shot they were giving her was a magic suppressant. 

After her first time bleeding for the Death Eater's entertainment, she hated knives. In fact, she hated all sharp things. But--surely--it was better than whatever else they would have had her spread her thighs for. 

"Can I- Can _I_ administer it?" Hermione stammered. "If I could just do it _myself_ \--"

"Miss Granger," Slughorn paused with a sigh, "no matter how many times you ask me, the answer will always be no. I'm sorry, but I cannot let you hold anything that can be a weapon..."

She continued to stall, hoping that the inevitable wouldn't come to pass. "Do you have an extra sleeping draught? You make some for all the victors. _Surely_ , you have some leftover." Her eyes came behind him to see a familiar purple liquid. "Please, Pro-" she stopped herself, " _Professor_."

That was the first time she called him that in years. It gratified him to hear that title again, but he couldn't possibly be that soft.

"I'm sorry," he ignored the tallies on her arm as he took a finger to poke at the flesh, "there simply isn't enough."

_Why couldn't he make another batch?_

"Imagine if Harry..." Hermione breathed, hearing the name of her dead best friend for the first time in ages. She hadn't said his name in years. No one did. It was a mutual understanding that the surviving members of the Order had come to. "Imagine if he saw you now... " Hermione put her hand out, "just this once."

The mention of Harry's name made Slughorn's withered features fall, his lips creasing into their now natural frown. 

It was always every month after the battle when she had to face Slughorn. Each time, her fear of the syringe overcame her utter distaste for him. 

He swallowed, his eyes falling and reaching to the table behind him. Through his dull eyes, his head was clearly uninhabited by eager generosity and replaced by guilt as he weighed his conscience and blinked his regret away. "Hold this and stay still, then."

Soon enough, the glass was in her left hand that was closest to the door.

A shot. _Why a shot_? Surely, it would have been easier to empty another potion down one's throat instead of a fucking needle. 

"Just a pinch," he tried to console her. She stared at it as her head began to pound, the words of her old professor not helping her. "One...Two... _Three_ \--"

The tip of the needle was against her upper arm, unmoving.

The door came open, Dolohov coming to escort another prisoner. 

Draco Malfoy certainly hadn't played nice with his fellow cellmates, but to the Death Eaters? He walked around with privilege like no other. Most of the dark witches and wizards had gotten over the sour revelation of Draco's 'betrayal.' And the Dark Lord didn't see much of what happened in their prison. The Malfoy's already had the reputation of being self-serving-- _needless to say. There_ wasn't much left to lose. 

Hollowness was the only thing in Malfoy's voice as he stepped into the room, "Are you finished yet? Or must I wait for another month..." 

Hermione didn't bother to turn in his direction. 

Many assumed he was probably paying the guards by the hour to give him the treatment that he receives. 

From where Draco stood, he couldn't see the skin that had been mutilated by the escort next to him, but he could still see Hermione holding her breath as Slughorn stood conflicted on which client to tend to. The needle still hovered above her skin, the girl felt like suffocating. 

"Mister Malfoy!" He exclaimed, "Congratulations on your victory today." _Prerogative._ "I was just--"

"Get to the point, Horace," Dolohov spat. It seemed like neither of them were in the mood to talk. 

Hermione's head bowed down to avoid looking in their direction. It was always a rough next couple of days for the winners of the battles when they'd come out as murderers, but for Draco? It looked too easy. 

"Just a moment," he called out to them before whispering back to Hermione, "A pinch, my dear."

The girl shut her eyes as a quiet gasp escaped her lips; her fingertips dug into the itchy fabric covering the cot as she met a terrifying sting. 

A small smirk came onto Dolohov's features as he assessed her reaction. The young Malfoy wondered why.

Draco crossed over his chest, watching Hermione's grip on the itchy fabric of the cot as she let out a heavy breath. If he was mistaken, there were also tears in her eyes.

_Granger just watched her friends get butchered, but a tiny prick was about to send her into a spiral..._ _Pathetic..._

What he failed to notice was the vial she was squeezing. If she applied any more pressure, the glass would surely break. 

"Done," Slughorn clasped his hands together, his focus going to the table where he had originally put the sleeping draught. "Your dose should be right--"

"Here." Hermione rolled her sleeve down, her stare on the floor as she reluctantly put out her hand. 

Even though he presented himself as heartless-- she knew the sleeping draught _did_ help. Most of the winners had horrific night terrors after their battles. It treated their slumbers so that further disturbances wouldn't be caused. The only thing that put him with the rest of the prisoners for all these years was because he fought on their side of the war. 

He earned his place as one of them. 

"This is yours, _Malfoy,_ " she keened.

Her stare was desperate to avoid the glare of Neville Longbottom's killer. The prisoners had long made an unspoken agreement not to be too cynical to the survivors of the fight, but that didn't mean the resentment wasn't there. 

Draco observed her as she stared at the ground. A part of him-- his ego-- believed that she wasn't looking at him out of fear, fear that he could also shatter her skinny, brittle bones just like he did her friend. 

In reality, she resisted the urge to land a punch square on his jaw. He may have won the battle, but there was no reason he had to torture Neville as long as he did before landing the final blow. Grudgingly, her grip loosened on the potion. 

Draco appeared in front of her, his glare hardening at the girl who had endured much more than he could dream of. They hadn't said a word to each other in months, and their last interaction was a simple nod when Hermione had won her fifth battle by killing Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff. 

"Nevermind, then..." Draco trailed off, his expression unseen by the girl, "I don't need something touched by a mudblood." 

The statement hardly took Slughorn back. Dolohov let out a laugh. 

Hermione's head shot up as she hopped off the cot, making a split second of eye contact with Draco. Her chest heaved as she felt a sense of soreness linger in her arm from the shot. He was lucky that her right arm was injected. Otherwise, nothing would've saved him from a hook.

"You-- _You_ \--" She tried to spit out words, but to even think about the way Neville was slain was heart-wrenching. The list of Malfoy's victims and the amount of blatant entertainment he provided for dark witches and wizards just to keep in some good graces-- it was _endless_. There wasn't a single victim he didn't play with as if it was sport before he killed them.

_Was this just a game to him?_

But Hermione's emotion-filled thoughts couldn't be further from the truth. 

"You're finished here, Miss Granger," Slughorn said wearily, "you're excused--"

"You should _pray_ you never get paired with me to fight, Malfoy," Hermione muttered under her breath as she sped past him, each stop with intention before Dolohov caught her wrist.

"Unless you want to join the bloody chink in the cellar, I suggest you clear up your attitude," Dolohov sneered into her face, " _Golden Girl_."

It was right after the battle, almost evening. That meant Cho was about to go into her daily session with Dolohov where she was-- _taken_. 

A chill was sent down the girl's spine as she ripped herself away from him. Malfoy must've paid him a great deal of money if a Death Eater was so willing to defend him like that.

Their interactions left a bitter taste on her tongue long after she had digested it. It made her stomach churn and her blood boil. A guard was waiting outside to escort her as she rubbed a hand over her aching arm. 

The girl left with a sleeping draught in her hand.

~

Unsurprisingly, it didn't work.

Insomnia kept Hermione wide awake. Although it stopped the night terrors, it wasn't potent enough to force her brain into a dreamless sleep, but it did calm her down. That's all she could ask for after watching three of her friends perish.

She stared wide awake at the ceiling, hoping to abandon the concept of time with each breath she drew. Her head hurt-- it _pounded_ with the percussion of hostility and rattled with the cymbals of revenge. 

Images of Neville, Parvarti, and Romilda flashed through her head. 

She couldn't help but think of Harry when she thought of each of them. Neville always loved to talk to Harry about Herbology in the library, Parvarti was Harry's date to the Yule Ball, and Romilda was always admiring Harry from afar most of their sixth year. 

Everything always seemed so much better when Harry was around. 

Hermione shook it off, unable to think about her best friend without hurting herself in the process. 

So she tried to fill her thoughts with something other than the death she'd witnessed and supplant it with a different breed of sin. 

Before she could continue, her head snapped to the girls who had been asleep long before her. Lavender was even sleeping soundly-- no doubt some sort of sedative had been administered. Ginny had cried earlier that evening as she missed the sound of Luna's lullaby that she would usually sing. 

The hands folded upon her stomach found their way through the hem of her pants and past her knickers. There was no guilt as she pushed her underwear away with the baggage that she carried. 

She tried to imagine hands touching her-- not in such an aggressive way that so many of the men handled their women-- but in a haze of passion. She pictured a faceless man that moved a teasing hand up her shirt as she mimicked the feeling. 

However, no slickness aided her journey. It was like her body was telling her no.

Her fingers moved in circles over her clit as she took control of her own pleasure. Perhaps after this, she would finally be able to sleep. 

She tried to visualize something to earn her pleasure-- much like she always did in times of stress. It became a usual thing for her to masturbate once her cellmates were asleep. The events of today had shaken her up too much; the gratification of an orgasm wouldn't be offered to her tonight. She soon gave up and turned to her side.

Hermione wasn't able to escape her torment.

~

It was late in the hours of the night, and because he neglected to take a draught, Draco Malfoy hadn't slept. 

Anything rightfully his--or even something he believed he _deserved_ \--was putty in his hands, per usual. However, he didn't request that Slughorn brew him another 'comfort' potion. It was childish, _weak_ if you will. He didn't need to quell the vivid images of Neville's death, not after the other demons of his present were the most haunting.

Draco awaited the arrival of his friend. He anticipated he'd appear from the sky. Soon, his eyes began to squint as he made out wings. 

Just on time.

From his tiny, barred window, he could see the stars. He could smell the sea. He could hear the waves crashing like tambourines onto the rocks, accompanying the wind in a ballad that was insulting the ears.

Still, as the ocean _mocked_ him, the freedom of having a window was considered lucky; not many cells had them. 

His friend had arrived, perched up onto the crumbling stone of the window, a raven that had been satirizing him earlier in the day. It satirized him in everything he did. 

The raven squawked, the tone of its cries deciphering easily into Draco's mind as he promptly used legilimency, just as he always did on their little visits. 

_'I come bearing gifts.'_

It wore the same shade as the moonless sky; black. It was a bird of nonpareil next to the ocean's offenses. There was a vial of a deep blue mixture strung to its leg. 

"I've been wondering if you were coming at all," Draco muttered, clearly annoyed as he brought his attention to the package. 

This is what he really needed-- not some poorly brewed sleeping draught. 

'Paracelycium' was a tonic that kept his heart pounding and his head spinning, it kept his fingertips tingling, and it enticed and enthralled him. It rid him of his apprehensive awareness and substituted it with a benumbing devotion to drown in as much of the blue liquid as he could. 

Draco was lucky his friend was kind enough to offer him the gift of moderation. Needless to say, it was his _favorite_ remedy.

"How I've missed you, Celly," Draco said through gritted teeth as the back of his head was thrown back, his lips coming to the rim of the glass container. 

_'It's not a person, Malfoy.'_

The liquid scorched down his throat with a burning sensation that he never grew tired of. His dry, thirsty mouth had tasted water as much as he'd pleased, but for _her_ \-- for 'Celly'? It had been days since his lips had met his frequent, _addictive_ lover. 

" _Argh_ ," he winced, trying to down her as he felt it warm his insides. Instant relief overcame him as he looked back to his winged companion, his eyes watering as the bird tilted its head to the side, "Funny coming from you, mate...I assume you saw my kill this afternoon?"

Neville Longbottom, a death he no longer had to be burdened by. Not for the next couple of hours, at least. 

_'Impressive work. You didn't hesitate to drag it out either... His grandmother was announcing, you know.'_

The bird's screeching was carried to the end of the hall as it was followed by the sounds of a door creaking open. Draco's head snapped in the direction of the noise. 

"His grandmother was as good as _dead,_ " he placed the now-empty vial next to the raven as he felt his heart slow, "I was doing both of them a favor..." 

His thoughts were interrupted by the disagreement between the pitches of what song the doors would squeak and creak in tonight. Their prison was a series of underground tunnels connected to the ministry by some sort of portal. 

Cormac arrived later to his cell than usual. Still, Draco's mind had been kissed by the poison he welcomed so adamantly, and he was too ignorant to comprehend the judgment that was radiating off the other blonde. 

"I believe I've earned myself a couple of minutes with the girl of my choosing?" Cormac spoke to the guard as he was ushered into the cell across from Draco, the new opening courtesy of Neville, "I hear the Weasley girl has been a handful."

Cormac had been fighting too much. Lately, the guards put him to work as a punishment. A reward for good behavior was only offered to the men. 

Most women had a mark of a rhombus in the nape of their necks. Some of the less 'out-spoken' ones had smaller ones behind their ear lobe. The more the girls behaved, the smaller their rhombus would be. The more they retaliated, the more it grew. It was discipline carved by the talons of the patriarchy. 

This entire time, the raven was steadily awaiting his departure as he stretched his wings. He had other things to tend to-- other people to take care of. 

_'I'll see you soon.'_

The sight of the bird melting back into the black painted sky was a blur. Draco's disposition had been torn down as he stumbled to his cot, Celly being the only thing that brought him comfort nowadays. 

As Draco's head rejoined his pillow, he couldn't help but envy his feathered friend; how lucky one must be to glide wild through the wind instead of being a caged bird...


	3. 3. Perversion

**THE MAJORITY OF INMATES** were quiet as they tried to stomach down their usual meal of stale bread and dry meat. 

"Try to eat, George," Hermione nudged him, his frame growing thinner with each passing day.

Each prisoner's skin had a sickly undertone, but George Weasley's refusal to nourish himself concerned Hermione. 

Once Fred had passed, he wasn't himself. He'd gotten in trouble once or twice for smashing one of the five mirrors that they had last year. His hand still had cuts, and they refused to let him see a healer. Hermione ended up trying to pick out the shards. 

Still, he wasn't as bad as Ron.

Dean was carrying the weight of his victory without ease as Ron sat next to him, digesting that same fate just as he did every other day. Romilda was Hannah Abbott's cellmate. Ron had beaten Hannah not so long ago. Perhaps Dean's triumph would give them something to talk about.

Padma had been screaming all night, according to the girls who stayed with her in her block. When the guards couldn't have it anymore, they took matters into their own hands. Padma's features were stained with dark blues and purples, her left eye swollen and beat. It seemed as if she had been the one to fight the day before.

Draco had finished eating-- knowing what was good for him if he wanted to survive another day there. Last night, the little visit with his friend had proven useful as he sat with his back against the cold stone wall with an elbow upon his knee. He looked up, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. 

Celly never left him without a painful and hazy headache. It was her version of lovebites to remind him of the night before. 

He zoned the room out.

"If you don't eat, you're going to be skin and bones," Hermione informed him, shoving bread in front of his face. 

Ginny knew George always had a bad relationship with food through his childhood, but she stayed quiet for the most part. It was the least of her concerns considering their continuous tragic circumstances. 

They were lucky they hadn't been killed off yet. 

"You sound like Mum," his lips twisted into a frown as he looked to his sister, who hadn't said anything the whole morning. "Did you see her yesterday, Ginny?"

It was bittersweet to think about seeing their mother once a month as she was strung up like an animal. But at the same time, it was the only thing that she could look forward to. 

"No," Ginny looked down, twiddling her fingers, "I couldn't-- I couldn't look at her. Not like that."

"Me neither," George replied.

"She looked happy to see you," Hermione breathed out, "- _relieved_ that none of you were chosen." 

She was sugar-coating it. Yes, the look of joyous tears were present in Molly's eyes, but that couldn't discredit the obvious amount of torment that she had been through. No doubt, the death eaters had used the Cruciatus Curse on her. Molly Weasley never backed down without a fight.

"When is enough going to be enough?" Ginny spoke up. "We can't keep living like this. It's outrageous."

"It's dangerous to rebel," Hermione reminded her as she expressed more Ravenclaw tendencies than Gryffindor. "We don't want to end up like--"

"Like Luna?" Ginny blurted out. "Taken by a mysterious man and-- God knows what's happening to her right now..."

Her voice trailed off as Hermione watched the coils of apprehension twist behind brown eyes. Images of what was happening to Luna flashed through both of their heads with the mention of her name. She was too gentle to be defiled by this world. 

"I'm never going to see her again," Ginny muttered as she looked at the two of them, "aren't I?"

Optimistic thinking was a finicky task for the girls, but George managed to look at a Ravenclaw who had an eye missing from across the chamber. "Read the room, Ginny," he forced back a smile, trying to offer it to her, "at least you _can_ see..."

Hermione was caught off guard and had to let out a snort, scolding herself only seconds after. It wasn't uncommon that they'd tease each other, but sometimes they'd prefer to have a sense of decency despite certain 'implications.' 

At least humor helped him cope, even if he couldn't tell jokes with his best friend anymore. 

Ginny continued, "We're pigs going to the slaughterhouse. It's like we're-- we're _Harry_."

"Careful," George told her, "You know what his name does to people here."

Whether it was resentment for following him headfirst into battle or the aching of missing him, everyone reacted to his name. It was better off unsaid. 

"We can't just accept that we're going to die off one by one. I can't sit idly by while all of us--" she chose her next words with care, lowering her voice as she spoke through gritted teeth, "I can't live my life knowing this is all I'm going to amount to."

Hermione swallowed, "I understand, Ginny. I wanted more from life too, but we have to play it safe--"

"We're all going to _die_ if we keep being safe. We need a _plan_."

There was a loud creak that interrupted their conversation.

Everyone's heads-- _including Draco who still sat glowering in the corner_ \-- snapped to the gated entryway as a guard swung the bars open, Rockwell coming to view. He impetuously held the child by his upper arm and turned him so that the audience could pity his face that glistened with tears. 

"Your new family, _mhm_?" Rockwood looked out to the sea of despair as he forced him to do the same thing. He could hardly see through the glass of humiliation that polished itself over his eyes.

Their collective thoughts of confusion hovered in the air.

What was a child doing here?

Why was he dressed in rags?

What had they already done to him?

Where were his parents?

"He's so young," Hermione whispered as she stood up along with a few other prisoners, trying to get a better look at the child who was covered in dirt. "He's not old enough to be here."

Murmurs spread throughout each clique of prisoners. This dawn presented itself with the usual haze that the morning-after battles brought. What they didn't expect was another prisoner-- or such a young one either. 

"I trust you'll find room for this one?" Rockwell growled to the guard inside of the door. "I imagine you're beginning to have a shortage."

Ginny's eyes widened as the young boy was thrown to the floor. He had a face with familiar features but implicitly unrecognizable. His skin was also decorated in violet bruises. He had been getting beaten-- for some time as well. Her rage was blatant as she began to shout. 

"Hey!" Ginny got up at once, coming to the boy's side and pulling him up. "What is he doing here?" 

When he didn't answer, she called out again. 

"Pig!" She yelled, her voice echoing down the hall. "I _said_ 'what is he-'"

Rockwood slapped her across the face, silencing her. 

She held her hand to her cheek as the young boy took a step back. 

Before her older brother could run to her aid, Ginny acted impulsively and threw herself at the man, landing a punch to his jaw. 

"Ginny, no--" Hermione called out as she attacked, the guard from outside coming in at once. It was too late to stop her. George fought him off before Rockwood could escape his sister's wrath. 

Most of the prisoners were stagnant as Cho came from the other side of the room and put the child behind her.

Ginny's fists kept flying before Rockwood had enough and bashed his head against hers, knocking the girl out. 

Ron didn't respond as his sister's body was tossed to the floor, similar to how the new boy was. Her limp body forced panic to wash through Hermione's features. 

An unconscious girl in the presence of all these-- _men--_ was dangerous. She'd surely be dragged to a cell and...

The rhombus on Ginny's neck grew bigger as Rockwood pointed his wand at her. She'd owe the men soon. She'd have to be _taken_ soon. 

Hermione found herself visualizing all the horrid scenarios Ginny's unconscious body would endure as Rockwood took her ankle and began to drag her out of the room. 

George was fuming, but he was too frail to do anything. His frame was up against the wall as he seethed underneath the grip of the guard.

"Let her go!" His voice cracked, trying to fight. "This is rubbish! You--"

Hermione's lungs rejected the air as she zoned out George's protests, trying to find an alternative. There was a younger Ravenclaw girl who had just finished eating to the right of her. It was a swift exchange as she ripped the plate from in front of her and eyed her target.

"You animal!" She yelled, bringing the metal plate across the side of his head. He was only fazed for a moment as the other prisoners began to get riled up. "Get away from her--"

Hermione mindlessly began to pry Rockwood's fingers from her friend in the second he was daunted. 

But she wasn't as strong as Ginny. How could she be so stupid to fight when her strength was half of hers? 

Once she realized that his fingers were unyielding, a shade of discomfort ran across her face. " _No_ ," Hermione shook her head, bracing herself to be hit by putting her hands in front of her face. 

No strike came. 

Guards swarmed in at the sound of commotion as the scene became a whirlwind. 

Most of the prisoners scattered to the room's perimeter as Hermione was pinned down to the floor. Walden Macnair came into view.

Draco was too consumed in the pounding of his own head-- and the vexatious impulse to choke the living shit out of that blasted bird for enabling him-- to care about their fighting. He shut his eyes, steadying his breaths. 

Rockwood pinned Hermione to the ground. This time, she had an audience as her sleeve was forced up; the scars that Bellatrix left were on the opposite arm. 

No one stood up for her. They were too afraid. George looked mortified as he saw the marks she'd tried to keep hidden.

None of them were able to avenge their classmate's deaths, and they _certainly_ wouldn't risk their lives for the girl who helped lead the rebellion that got them imprisoned. Cho hid the boy's face in her stomach and turned him away as George fought even harder. 

The rest of them rather let themselves marinate in melancholy than retaliate.

"No! No!" Hermione screamed and tried to kick hands away, turning to any other face that could help her, "I'll _stop_ \-- Please..."

Her eyes came to her worn down best friend that she used to find the utmost of succor in. 

_Get up, Ron. Get up and do something._

He didn't even look at her.

Macnair pulled out a blade as the rest of the men strapped her down.

This ritual was normally done within the comfort of her cell. Now, everyone had the privilege of seeing ' _Potter's Slut_ ' in her weakest state.

To her, they were still as fresh as the day they'd been carved. There were nine-hundred seventy-two markings on her. She was missing around five if she had counted correctly. 

Hermione turned her head to the side, her hands reaching for Ginny's fingers, which lay next to her. 

Draco was the only one in the room with a cavity in his chest that empathy should've filled. 

At first, her screams were familiar. They had an echo that he couldn't forget. The first time that it resonated through his ears, it left an imprint on his conscience. She was helpless while he stood idly by. 

Bellatrix wished Draco would've taken more pleasure in her screams, but his heart had been thawed by his mother. Even _she_ was frightened that day. 

His younger self felt pity for Hermione. 

But now, all he had was irritation. 

"Stop..." she cried out quietly. "Please, stop..."

The boy was ripped out of Cho's grasp. He was compliant as he was dragged out of the room by a guard. Hermione thought of the worst when she thought about the child's fate. He didn't stand a chance alone in these dungeons. 

But she couldn't move. 

She couldn't fight.

Macnair was still crushing her wrist underneath his grip as she questioned the nature of her bones. Perhaps he would break it if he applied any more pressure. 

The man got up, satisfied with dragged lines on the inside of her forearm as Rockwood pointed his wand to her, the rhombus behind her ear growing to her neck. 

She felt it like tiny prickles plaguing her skin. 

"Such a good pussy, I bet," Macnair nodded to the other guards. "Wonder who's going to fuck her first..."

A tear fell down her face and into the solace of the ground as she shut her eyes, still gripping Ginny's debilitated hand for sympathy. 

~

_A habit to be drenched in knowledge by a polluted mind,_

_A mind composing a solo piece concerning a salacious song._

_Without the expense of the heart performing the tune._

~

The shower was running behind her as Hermione stripped her clothes off. 

Hermione was soon under the lukewarm water. The temperature was... _charmed_ in a sense. Someone had bribed the guards to cast a regulating spell depending on the person years ago. It was the special 'fifth shower head to the right.' 

Those marks-- _tallies_ \-- were scattered over her body. For a second-- Hermione met the gaze of her reflection through the mirror; her scars were magnets to the eyes. 

The ones on her thighs from almost two years ago had nearly faded, noticeable by a stranger if they looked closely. 

She avoided the mirrors out of fear and let the water trickle down her face. Soon, the blood that had smeared over her forearms was trickling down her marred body and disappearing down the drain. 

She sighed.

For a moment, she wanted to be held. The warm water wasn't enough to comfort her anymore. 

Hermione used to cry during her first year at Hogwarts. She became increasingly insecure by boys who made her feel bossy or demanding at the age of 11. But she remembered what her mother told her through a letter; they couldn't strip her pride away if she wasn't ashamed. It was up to her to if she was going to let their words get to them.

Afterward, she took delight in the fact that she was a commanding and intelligent young lady. Once she realized how special she was, so did everyone else. 

But the same plight didn't pertain to these dungeons. 

Still, Hermione tried not to be fazed by the marks upon her skin as she began to wash. 

Her hands climbed over the peaks of her body as it tried to rub away the bruising handprints that the men had left. Soon, her hands came to her thighs.

The women didn't grow hair between their legs; a spell had been cast so that grooming wouldn't be necessary. It was per Dolohov's request.

She couldn't help but feel the need to soothe herself-- _reward_ herself for enduring that afternoon. Hermione didn't know how to deal with it. 

Her hands trailed down.

Compulsive Masturbation: a trauma response. Hermione had resorted to it out of stress and any sort of pain-- even plain _boredom_. She didn't feel much shame for her private affairs as she took advantage of the only coping mechanism she had. 

The exhilarating chemicals mollified Hermione-- giving her a high that even money couldn't buy. 

Because not everyone was privileged enough to have drugs brought to the cell window.

Hands were kneading her breasts, her mind tricking her that they were someone else as she continued to think about the multiple ways to be ravaged. Her back was pressed against the cold wall as she imagined a tongue flicking over the sensitive area that was aching to be touched. 

She shut her eyes, feeding the illusions of lust to her touch-starved mind. 

As she did, another prisoner came into the large bathrooms. There wasn't a curtain dividing any of the shower heads, just a long panel of wood as they entered the room.

Draco assumed it was a male as he walked in, about to shrug his shirt off as well. 

There was someone in his usual spot-- five heads to the right—the one he had bought Dolohov to charm. 

That 'someone' was a bare Hermione Granger whose eyes were sewn shut underneath the water. Draco gritted his jaw.

A hand came over her mouth as she swam in the drunken pools of lust, the man coming to hide behind the panels to avoid any chance of her seeing him. 

He couldn't help but feel a sense of irritation and... _arousal_. 

Draco's head surged with apprehension as he swallowed. Hadn't she just been tortured this morning? She had certainly gone madder than Lavender if she thought touching herself in their shared bathing quarters without getting caught was an option.

On top of that... she was in _his_ shower. With all the shit he had to go through, one would think he'd deserved _some_ sympathy. 

Was she going to be finished yet? 

Out of mere _curiosity_ , he turned his head around the corner.

Everything in him forced him to retreat from his perverted stare. 

And he did. 

Draco's feet carried him to the doors of the bathroom as he tried to force the image of her out of his head. He blinked the memory away. 

That was until she made a noise; she fucking _moaned_. 

She still couldn't hear him as a demon of longing overtook her body. 

He had to look away. This was wrong. 

If he wanted a chance out of this prison, he couldn't be caught looking at the girl his aunt had tortured. Draco knew how Bellatrix felt about his entire family... _traitors and cowards_. 

No matter how compelling of an argument her moans made-- it gave him no peace of mind knowing a mudblood was making him hard.

_Filthy, infected, diseased blood._

But still-- she was a woman. He hadn't seen this spectacle in years. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten laid. 

And he certainly wouldn't touch a lady without her explicit consent. 

Maybe if he just- _no_.

 _No_.

_No._

' _Take what you want..._ ' A phrase he'd grown up with, entitled and arrogant as he walked down the corridors in Hogwarts. _  
_

What would his mother think? Did she raise a peeping tom?

Mudblood or not, a woman deserved that same respect. 

There was one thing that Draco knew was sown into his bones; he was not a predator. 

Maybe he had rejected a sense of humanity and empathy during the long years he'd spent underground, but he had morals innate from his mother that he wouldn't compromise. 

He shut his eyes, only the sounds of the girl who pleasured herself was seeping into his ears like a melody that was being strummed between her legs for the first time. 

In the blackness of his eyelids, he remembered his mother: What she would say, how she would scold him, how he would _disappoint_ her. 

Draco couldn't remember the last time he saw her. All he knew was that she had been taken captive somewhere by the Dark Lord. He couldn't betray all the lessons of chivalry she had taught him just because he was mildly intoxicated and somewhat mad. 

He wondered what she was thinking about... he knew she was close with the remaining Weasley twin, and he hadn't seen her interact with Ron in months. But he knew some other male prisoners had their eyes out; the guards did as well. 

Potter's cunt was a topic of conversation that he knew the Death Eaters were familiar with. 

And Celly the night before didn't help, but it was no excuse. He still was cursed with the pulsing of a headache. 

Draco didn't realize how long he'd been listening to her with his eyes closed as her moans became broken-- more like _whines_. She was close. 

Hermione focused, her hips involuntarily bucking against her hand as she mimicked the feeling of being fucked. Although she hadn't experienced it herself. Her legs almost shook as she steadied her balance, the orgasm overtaking her as the sounds she produced made Draco harden in his pants. 

Although he had only gotten a glimpse of her, her noises were overwhelming... especially after being _deprived_ for that long. 

By the time she was done, Draco had left. 


End file.
